


Where You Lead

by glittering_git



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Time, Fluff, HP: EWE, Humor, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 12:18:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7532440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glittering_git/pseuds/glittering_git
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco just wanted to spend time with his best friends. Pansy just wanted Draco to be happy. Potter just wanted Draco. And maybe Draco wanted Potter too. A story about first-times, Muggle games, and the possibilities of pursuing the things that scare you most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to start by thanking my wonderful beta, [tavia_d](http://tavia-d.livejournal.com), who did an outstanding job of turning this fic from a pile of goo to this little story about my favourite boys. I would also like to thank my two lovely friends, who put up with late-night editing sessions, and my endless worrying. To the HP fandom, and all of the lovely fic writers and artists, to the people who pore endlessly over the works created, to the people who leave kudos and comments, this one is for y'all. I hope that you enjoy it! A huge thank you to the mods of this fest for doing such an amazing job! Title is from the _Gilmore Girls_ credit song by Carole King.
> 
>  
> 
> **Disclaimer:** All recognizable characters belong to JK Rowling and associates. No copyright infringement intended.

Draco slowly levitated a bottle of his favourite elf-made red, along with three long-stemmed wine glasses, from his kitchen to the small side table by his simple, black-leather sofa. He set the load down gently, looking around his small living room to make sure that everything was in place. Even though only Pans and Blaise were coming over, the need to keep up appearances was hard for him to escape, drilled into his head from such a young age.

“Dray, are you there?” Pans asked loudly from his fireplace.

“Daft bint,” Draco shook his head. “I’m right here.” He leaned down and put his face in the green flames. “And you know how much I loathe that nickname.”

“But you love me,” she smiled cheekily at him through the Floo. “Can we come through?”

“Of course. I just finished getting everything ready.” Draco got up from his knees and stepped out of the fireplace to make room for his two oldest friends to come through. Pansy came first, stumbling slightly in her red heels. “Did your dad let you leave the house looking like that?” She smacked him with her large purse.

“Oh shut up, you know I don’t live with my parents anymore. I dress like this when I go out,” she waggled her eyebrows up at him.

“And this counts as going out?”

“No, of course not. This is just for you,” she batted her eyelashes up at him seductively.

“And you know that if I was even a little bit interested in birds I would be all over you, but alas, I’m too interested in cock to care.”

“Unfortunately for me,” Pansy smiled gently at Draco, because even though she’d known about Draco’s preference for cock for a long time, she still couldn’t help but imagine what it could have been like if things were different.

“Hey, you fat cow,” Blaise called from the fireplace. “Get out of the way so I can come through.” Pansy moved to sit down on Draco’s leather sofa to make room for Blaise and he followed her gracefully through the Floo. Draco sat down in the armchair, crossing one ankle over the other, the very picture of elegance even in his casual grey jumper and black slacks.

“So, now that we’re done, can we get pissed?” Blaise questioned his companions.

“Like revising for NEWTS ever stopped you before,” Pansy reprimanded him.

“Well, no,” Blaise pouted, “but now with no fear of getting caught by McGonagall, it’ll be a lot more fun.” Draco had already poured the wine, and the trio raised their glasses together for a toast.

“To the end of revising.”

“To the end of a chapter.”

“To the beginning of another.” They all took a drink, smiling as the smooth, cool flavours filled their mouths with a hint of sweetness. Draco let the wine and good company wash over him like a balm, because even though he knew he was a difficult person, choosing to hide himself behind his many walls, Pans and Blaise had always been there for him, especially during the most trying time of his short life. Although he didn’t tell them perhaps as much as he should, he knew that they understood, and would be there for him time and time again.

~~~

The fire still glowed brightly, but the trio was now sprawled across the floor and the furniture. Pansy was lying on her stomach in front of the flames, her head resting on her arms. Draco was sprawled across the sofa, his feet in Blaise’s lap, his head hanging over the edge.

“Now why did I think this was a good idea?” Draco moaned. “Drinking with Slytherins is never a good idea.”

“Draco, in case you forgot, you are a Slytherin,” Pansy giggled.

“Oh, I guess that’s true,” Draco smiled to himself, his eyes a little out of focus. “Where were we again?”

“We were in the middle of playing Truth or Dare,” Blaise said excitedly, his handsome face scrunched up with excitement. “And it was my turn. I choose truth.”

“Pans, a little help here,” Draco called out.

“Umm,” she groaned from the floor. “Ask him something about what Weasley he would shag if he had to choose.”

“Ugh, Pans, I don’t really want to know that,” Draco complained, but Blaise was already fantasizing about the redheads. Draco couldn’t help but repress a shudder; he at least had taste, while Blaise would fuck anything he found beautiful or interesting, and red hair had always been attractive to him.

“Pans, dear, this is a hard one. I honestly can’t decide between Ginevra or Charlie; they both are so yummy I could just eat them up. I think that I would choose a threesome with both of them.” Blaise smiled to himself, lost in a world with two redheads and lots of shagging.

“Well, after that disturbing revelation,” Pansy began, “it’s your turn to pick, Draco.”

“Since you so lovingly made me have to think about Blaise with those two Weasleys, I’m going to ask you. Truth or dare,” Draco directed at Pansy.

“We could do with a spot of entertainment. Dare,” Pansy challenged.

“Well fuck. Dares are a lot harder to come up with,” Draco claimed. The truth was that he could think of many ridiculously stupid things to make Pansy do, from going down on Blaise to stuffing ten chocolate frogs in her mouth at once, but did he really want to see her actually do any of those things? Draco shuddered. Absolutely not. Although he’d known Pansy since before he could form complete sentences, there were some things that friends should not have to watch other friends do. “Blaise, a little help here.” Draco attempted to lift his head from where it was hanging off the edge of the sofa and slowly managed to get up, removing his feet from Blaise’s lap and tucking them underneath his legs. In the process, he realised that sometime in the past few minutes, Blaise had drifted off, and now his head, likely filled with redheads, hung off the raised arm of the sofa, his ebony features relaxed and peaceful, glowing in the light of the fire. “Well, Pans, I guess it’s entirely up to me.” He thought for a while longer. “Since Blaise is asleep, I dare you to give him butterfly kisses all over his face without waking him up.”

“Ugh, Draco. Really? That’s so boring and tame. I expected better from you,” Pans grumbled, but worked on dragging her spandex-clad arse off the floor and towards Blaise. “But I guess it’s easy so I can’t complain too much.” She gently leaned down over Blaise’s face and brought her eyelashes to his cheek, blinking quickly. Blaise was asleep in a drunken stupor, so Pansy’s dare did not wake him up, and she was done in moments. Instead of moving back to her previous spot in front of the dimly glowing fire, Pansy laid down alongside the sofa, staring up at the white ceiling. Her eyes looked slightly glazed, whether an effect of the alcohol or the late hour or a combination of the two; but to someone who knew her well, as Draco did, he could tell she was still scheming.

“What’s that look for?” Draco demanded, because Pansy and scheming and Truth or Dare never went well. “I think I’m done for the night,” Draco feigned a yawn, attempting to end the game before he made a fool of himself.

“No, no, no. You’re not done yet. We’ve got one more round, and this time it’s your turn.”

“And what if I refuse?” Draco pouted.

“You’re not going to refuse me, friend since birth and keeper of all of your juicy secrets that the world’s just not ready to hear yet,” she fluttered her eyelashes cheekily in Draco’s direction. And damn it, but she was right because Draco had a soft spot for Pansy.

“Fine,” he mumbled. “But I don’t have to like it. So is it going to be truth or dare?”

“Oh darling, you’re so funny. It’s going to be dare. I dare you to write to Potter and invite him over to a game night.” Even in his inebriated state, Draco knew that it was a bad idea and he adamantly refused. But then Pansy gave him her puppy dog look, which he was extremely susceptible to when he had had a little, or a lot, to drink, and so, somehow Draco found himself with a quill and parchment scrounged up from a desk drawer.

“Wait,” Draco drawled. “This was your idea. You’re going to write it; I’ll just dictate what the letter should say.”

“Fine,” Pansy huffed, taking the quill and parchment from Draco, deciding that since Draco had handed her the writing tools, she would be the one doing the writing and composing. He quickly caught on and started interjecting, prying the quill right from her fingers, leaving his loopy cursive next to her more cramped scrawl. Through a battle of drunken wills and some slight spelling mistakes, they managed to compose a semi-coherent message to Potter and quickly sent it off with Draco’s owl.

“Pans, it’s like half past three. Won’t Potter be terribly upset?”

“Who cares?” she giggled. “It’s already done. And now I’m going to bed.” With that, she rolled over to the side and closed her eyes, releasing a deep breath of air and relaxing into the luxurious rug. Draco sighed as well, deciding to forget about Potter and his troublesome face, and got comfortable on the sofa, quickly dropping off into a deep sleep.

\-------------------------------------------------------

_Tap-tap. Tap-tap. Tap-tap._

Harry was drawn out of a lovely dream involving a hot mouth and wisps of blond hair to the obnoxious sound of an owl at his window. He fumbled for his wand in the dark and found it on his bedside table, along with his glasses, which he slipped quickly onto his face. With a quick _Tempus_ , Harry discovered that it was half past three in the fucking morning. Why was there a bloody owl outside his window at this godforsaken hour? Realising that there was nothing to do but to let the blasted thing in, Harry cast a quick _Lumos_ and threw the covers off, exposing his skin to the cool air. Shivering slightly, he walked carefully towards the window and lifted the frame, letting the owl in, as well as the cold air.

“You’re a pretty bird,” Harry murmured to himself, carefully reaching out to stroke the eagle owl, vaguely recognising the bird, but not able to place from where. “What did you bring me?” Harry extended his arm down to retrieve the small scroll of parchment that was attached to the owl’s leg. He unfolded it slowly, trying to read the messy scrawl in the limited light.

_Potter,_

_Draco, Blaise ~~well Blaise is asleep on the sofa right now~~ and I are playing Truth or Dare, and I dared Draco to invite you over to a game night, but since he’s such a git ~~Hey! I’m not a git,~~ I’m doing it instead. (Also, we might be the slightest bit inebriated, so I apologise for this note’s illegibility or misspellings.) ~~Any of the aforementioned mistakes would be entirely Pansy’s fault. I’m cel clre clerly clearly in total control of my faculties.~~ Anyway, we ~~I don’t want anything to do with him. This is all your fault Pansy.~~ We want you to come over next Friday night and join us for a game night. We promise to be nice and we don’t bite. ~~I make no promises and I only bite if you ask me nicely;)~~ Please Owl your reply at your earliest convenience._

_P. Parkinson_

Merlin and Morgana both. Honestly, this letter made no sense. He hadn’t spoken much to Pansy or Blaise during their eighth year at Hogwarts, and he hadn’t seen Malfoy since his trials. Those last few years together at Hogwarts had been hard on them all, and Malfoy especially. Harry remembered how lost and alone Malfoy had looked that day in the bathroom, scared beyond imagination for his family’s safety. Harry reasoned that it was probably the public’s overwhelmingly negative opinions about former Death Eaters that had prevented Malfoy from returning to Hogwarts to complete his education, but Harry had heard that he’d been able to finish his NEWTS at home. Why were they inviting him over now, of all times? Harry decided that it was too late, or too early, depending on how you looked at it, to be dealing with this, and put the scroll down on the desk, fed the owl a treat, and closed the window. He headed back into his warm bed and attempted to put all thoughts of mysterious letters and pointy blonds out of his head until morning.


	2. Chapter 2

_“Malfoy gasped and gulped and then, with a great shudder, looked up into the cracked mirror and saw Harry staring at him over his shoulder (HBP 522).”_

_For a few moments, it was still in the bathroom, and then slowly, as if in a dream, Potter began to advance towards Draco. Draco himself could not seem to feel anything inside but pain, and the relief of finally letting go of everything bottled up washed over him like the tide. Potter came up beside him, and the mirror reflected what a strange pair they made: Draco looking half-dead, eyes red and watering from crying; Potter with his hair mussed and eyes tired; silver-blond hair and black frames glinting in the mirror._

_“Do you want to talk about it?”_

_“No,” Draco responded, because he and Potter didn’t talk, they fought; they fought until there was nothing left to say or do, and still, they continued to fight. But Draco couldn’t muster up any fight any longer. He only wanted to lie down on this cold bathroom floor and join Moaning Myrtle. He gripped the sink harder for support. He was so tired of it all. Tired of the Dark Lord living in his house and commanding him and his father like slaves, no room for error, for the punishment was death. Tired of Dumbledore’s pitying glances, Pansy’s coddling, Blaise’s stifling. So instead of worrying, Draco did something that he’d always wanted to do, ever since his eyes lit upon the most startling shade of green he had ever seen. He grabbed a hold of Potter’s shoulders and turned his face and crushed his lips against Potter’s. Although Potter was still for a moment, he quickly found himself and started fighting Draco for dominance, their tongues locked in a battle of wills. And this was so much better than fighting. This was everything that Draco couldn’t allow himself to want, everything that could never happen._

Draco opened his eyes with a slow groan, quickly shutting them again and placing a hand over them to block out the harsh sunlight. His body felt like a Hippogriff had run over it; his mouth was parched and his tongue felt fuzzy and his brain was trying to hold onto a dream that involved Potter and snogging. “What did we do last night?” Draco mumbled, reaching his other hand up to cover a yawn. 

After a few seconds had passed without receiving a response, he slowly tried to convince his stomach that it shouldn’t evict its contents at the first signs of movement. Using the sofa as leverage, Draco heaved his body into an upright position, taking in the scene around him. Pansy looked completely uncomfortable, with her legs up on the sofa, her upper body slumped to the floor, and her back arched with a slight curve. Down by Draco’s feet, Blaise looked much more comfortable on the sofa, his whole body resting on the plush leather. Deciding that he would much rather be alone right now than face either of his two friends’ hangovers, he pushed himself off the floor and headed to the small bathroom adjacent to his bedroom. In his potions cabinet, Draco fumbled for a hangover potion, trying to avoid looking too closely at himself in the mirror.

“Aha!” Draco exclaimed as his seeking hands found the phial he was looking for. He twisted off the lid and quickly downed the potion, taking a swig of water to wash away the taste. Almost immediately, he felt his headache begin to ease and his nausea fade, the contents of his stomach once more under his control. 

_Tap-tap. Tap-tap. Tap-tap._

Why was a bloody owl tapping at his window at this hour of the morning? Draco cast a quick _Tempus_ and realised it was already half eleven. He decided that he was never drinking with Pans and Blaise again, or at least never drinking as much, he amended in his mind. Draco didn’t recognise the owl as he walked towards the window, exiting the bathroom and heading towards his desk and his view of the brightly colored buildings and doors in Camden. It was a gorgeous owl, mostly white with a few black markings on its wings, and had inquisitive eyes that it turned towards Draco.

The handwriting on the note was a dead giveaway. Potter. Bloody hell. Why was the Boy Who Fucking Lived to Torture Draco’s Libido Owling?

_Parkinson and Malfoy,_

_I can honestly say that your Owl was a surprise, to say the least. Do you two often Owl old house-rivals gone three in the morning? I mean, not that I don’t love owl post (because I do, I mean, aren’t they just so cute, and how do they know where to go?), but I think that there’s a time and a place for everything. But anyway, about your request. You want me to join you for game night? Do you remember who you’re talking to? Not to rehash the past or anything, but need I remind you about its unpleasantness? Are you sure that it’s something you want to follow through with? I completely understand if, in the light of sobriety and the morning, you decide it was a mistake._

_Potter_

Bits and pieces of last night began to fill Draco’s mind. Did Blaise really say that he wanted a threesome with Charlie and Ginevra? Draco shuddered at the unbidden image that was filling his mind, quickly trying to think of something more pleasant. But what about this whole business with Potter? Draco kind of remembered a dare, and Pansy trying to write a somewhat legible letter and sending it off with Edgie. He didn’t think that the speccy git would go and write a reply.

“Pansy,” Draco called loudly, stepping back into the living room and walking over to the sofa to shake her awake. This was all her fault and she could deal with the mess she had caused. “Pans, wake up. It’s half eleven and we have to deal with the Chosen Git’s owl post.”

“Owl post?” she murmured sleepily, sliding even further onto the floor.

“Yes,” Draco responded slowly, trying to be patient. “From Potter’s owl. Because you decided that it would be a good idea to send him a message at three in the morning.”

“It’s three in the morning?”

“No,” Draco sighed, his patience wearing thin. He shook her harder, trying to help manoeuvre her body into a more comfortable position.

“Fine, fine, I’m awake,” she snapped, sliding completely onto the floor. “Now what’s this about Potter and an owl?”

“Well thanks to your brilliant idea, we now have a speccy git writing owl post to us, and it seems like he might expect a reply.”

“What did I do?” Pansy whined, flopping onto her stomach and staring at the empty fireplace.

“Something about daring me to invite Potter to a game night. And then you went and bloody did it!”

“Oh, I vaguely remember that,” Pansy said as realisation washed over her face. “Did we really do that? Merlin, I can’t even begin to imagine what kind of letter we wrote in that state. What did he reply?” Draco passed her the note and sat down in the vacant chair. She skimmed the writing quickly, smirking at the beginning and frowning by the end. “What is he trying to do by mentioning the past? Do you think that he doesn’t want to come?”

“How would I know what goes on in that brain?”

“Well, what do you want to reply? How do you feel in the ‘light of the morning and sobriety’?” she questioned. “Speaking of, do you have more hangover potion?” Draco reached into the pocket of his trousers and handed her a phial.

“I obviously don’t want to invite him. I was drunk. You were drunk. Nothing else but my death from mortification needs to happen.”

“Oh, stop being a drama queen. You know that deep down you wanted to invite him. Especially after hearing things from Blaise,” she teased.

“Pans!” Draco exclaimed, scandalised. “You promised. Not one word about that ever again.”

“I didn’t promise anything of the sort.”

“I’m not going to talk to you if you can’t be reasonable,” Draco huffed and stalked off to the kitchen.

\-------------------------------------------------------

_Tap-tap. Tap-tap. Tap-tap._

“Bugger,” Harry groaned, once again awakened from a delicious dream involving miles of pale skin, smooth hardness, and soft moans that left him half-hard in the soft afternoon light. He crawled off the sofa, stretching his back like a cat, and made his way over to the window. “Oh,” he made a soft sound of surprise, recognising the owl from the night before. “What could this reply mean?” Harry took the letter from the owl’s leg and reached out to stroke its feathers lightly.

_Potter,_

_We’re very sorry that we subjected you to our drunken incoherencies and bumbling idiocies. Please ignore the previous letter, because we wouldn’t want to remind you of the tumultuous nature of our shared history. We apologise once again for any inconveniences we may have caused._

_Parkinson and Malfoy_

Huh. An apology note of sorts, although Harry could tell that while Parkinson had signed the note, the snideness was all Malfoy. He guessed that it was okay that he hadn’t received a positive response, because that would have been too weird? Right? Harry couldn’t get over the image of Malfoy at his trial, looking pale and defeated, unlike the posh git he remembered from Hogwarts, so sure of himself and of his place in the world. It had been unsettling to see the Malfoy heir reduced to a stringy head of hair, dark circles under his eyes, no longer pale and slender, but looking half-dead and emaciated under the startlingly bright light of the Wizengamot. After witnessing the hell that Malfoy’s life had been with Voldemort himself in residence at the Manor, Harry could understand the look. Seeing what Malfoy had been subjected to had lent a new light to Harry’s perspective, and he could now see that they were both two pawns, controlled by greater forces and unable to make their own choices. Who knows what could have happened had Harry accepted Malfoy’s hand all those years ago.

Harry was startled out of his reverie with the whooshing of the Floo.

“Harry, you decent?” Ron called through the flames, sticking his head in further and looking around, eyes alighting when he spotted Harry by the window. “Hermione and I are coming through.” Harry shook himself quickly and stuck the note into the back pocket of his worn jeans. First Ron and then Hermione tumbled through the Floo, brushing themselves off and taking seats on his navy blue sofa.

“How does it feel to be all done?” Ron crowed loudly, a wide smile splitting his face. “If I never have to see another exam in my life, it will be too soon.”

“You’re forgetting about Auror training,” Harry reminded him. “While I’m sure we’ll be fine, I don’t think I can guarantee that you won’t see another exam again in your life. But yeah, I’m happy to be done revising for NEWTS.”

“Well, I don’t know what I’ll be doing now with my life,” Hermione pouted. “Without revising for exams, whatever will I spend my time doing?”

“You’ll just start reading the textbooks for your Healer’s training ‘Mione,” Harry grinned. “And don’t try to deny it. While Ron and I enjoy a leisurely summer, you’ll be stressing about classes and lessons that haven’t even started.” Hermione gave him a look, but she couldn’t keep it up for long because everything that Harry had said was true.

“And that’s why I love her,” Ron exclaimed, reaching an arm up and wrapping it around her shoulder none too gently. “She’s the brains and the looks in this relationship. I’m just here to make sure she doesn’t take herself too seriously and laughs every once in awhile.” He pinched her nose, and Hermione let out a sound of indignant protest, but soon found herself smiling. “See, like that!”

“Yes, yes, we all know what kind of joker you are,” Harry mollified. “Speaking of jokes, I got the strangest letter from Malfoy and Parkinson the last night.”

“What do those slimy gits want?” Ron scowled. “It can’t be anything good, Harry.”

“Ron, now we talked about this,” Hermione admonished gently. “We’ve got to stop looking at this as _us_ versus _them_ , but rather as individual human beings that were put in circumstances far beyond their control, doing their best just to survive.”

“You know I agree with Hermione, Ron.”

“I know, I know,” Ron sighed. “You guys probably do have a point, but it’s going to take some time for me to accept that. And that doesn’t mean that I have to like them; it just means that I have to give them a chance. So anyway, Harry, what did the note say?”

“It was the strangest thing. It was gone half three in the morning and I was in bed like any sane person, and then I hear this owl at my window, and it’s Parkinson and Malfoy. From their note, I’m pretty sure they were drunk off their arses, but they invited me to a game night, for Merlin’s sake. And then I replied at a decent time this morning asking if it was a mistake or some kind of joke, and then they sent me this.” He took the folded note out of his back pocket and passed it over to them. They read it quickly and then Hermione gave him one of her _looks._

”Harry,” she began slowly. “I don’t know if you’re going to want to hear this, but I think it actually would be a good idea for you to do something like this.”

“Really, ‘Mione? Even though I know that he was put in circumstances way outside of his control, and that his behaviour may partially be attributed to the madman living in his house, that doesn’t mean that I have to go and get all cosy with him. I mean, it’s Malfoy. He’s a prick. Always has been; always will be.”

“I know you don’t really believe that, Harry. And you know what else, it would be good to attempt some kind of acquaintanceship with them because you know the post-war climate has not been good to those who found themselves on the wrong side of the war. And I know you don’t agree with the way the public opinion is out for blood, made even worse by Skeeter and those damned articles,” Hermione spat with vengeance. Harry could tell she was really upset by Skeeter’s speculative articles on whether or not the Ministry was doing enough to punish the criminals because she had cursed. He didn’t really want to get into post-war wizarding politics. Although, for some bizarre reason, people looked up to him and took their cues from him, he didn’t want to be involved. He didn’t want people to think something just because he thought it or just because he believed in it. He wanted people to come to realise these things on their own, but knew that not everyone had access to the information that he did, and were justifiably hurt and angry. Whether he liked it or not, wizarding politics would always be a part of being The Boy Who Lived Twice, even if it wasn’t something he had even asked for.

“I know, Hermione,” Harry whined. “I know that it would be good to foster some kind of friendship or acquaintance with them, but that doesn’t mean I really want to. That also doesn’t account for the fact that they don’t want to see me. You saw the note.”

“I got the feeling that it might have been more in reaction to your own letter, bringing up hints of your shared unsavoury past. Perhaps if you sent them an Owl and told them you wanted a clean slate once and for all, they would be more receptive.” Harry thought about it. It probably wouldn’t hurt to try, and then maybe he could get that image of Draco down and defeated out of his mind.

\-------------------------------------------------------

_Malfoy, Parkinson, (and maybe Zabini),_

_I know you wrote that you wanted to forget about the letter you sent me at half three in the morning, but what if I don’t? I realise that you might have taken my mention of our history as reluctance on my part, but I really just wanted to clarify if it was something that you wanted to do. I would really appreciate it if we could start over on a fresh slate and give each other the chance we never did at Hogwarts. We’re all adults now, and perhaps we can see what might come of trying to work things out._

_Potter_

\-------------------------------------------------------

_Potter,_

_We were surprised to receive your letter after our (quite) clear dismissal of the idea, but we are not averse to starting over. If you are willing to try again, then we might be too. How does this Friday at seven sound?_

_Parkinson, Malfoy, and Zabini_

\-------------------------------------------------------

_Parkinson, Malfoy, and Zabini,_

_That sounds good to me. Where?_

_P_

\-------------------------------------------------------

_Potter,_

_The Floo at “Draco Malfoy’s flat” has been opened to you. We look forward to seeing you then._

_M_

\-------------------------------------------------------

Draco was nervously pacing in front of his fireplace. This time it was more than justified, he thought to himself. Not only was the Chosen Prat himself going to grace them with his presence, Pans and Blaise had got it into their thick heads that the game for the night would be strip poker.

“Seriously,” Draco tried once more. “Strip poker? I don’t even know how to play that. And I will not end up naked in front of Potter.”

“Uh huh,” Pansy nodded, placating Draco. “You never wanted to be naked in front of Potter?” Draco tried to hide the flush that was spreading from his cheeks down his neck. He was failing miserably, if the smirk from Pansy was anything to go by. “We don’t have to play, but it’s not that hard. We can teach you. It’s a game that they played a lot in our eighth year dorm, well not the strip version, but the normal one.” At that moment, the Floo roared to life and Potter stuck his birds nest through, verifying that it was okay to come through, and quickly stepped out into Draco’s living room. He stumbled a little bit and reached out to stabilise himself, his hands finding Draco’s arm.

“Watch where you’re going, Potter,” Draco snapped, annoyed that the prat had the audacity to actually show up, messy hair and all.

“Whoa, I’m sorry,” Potter said, holding his arms up in apology and stepping away from Draco. “Flooing has never been my favourite mode of travel.” He smiled a bit self-deprecatingly. “We can’t all be posh gits like you.” Draco brought his eyes up to Potter’s, expecting defensiveness or anger, but only finding light teasing. It was probably more than he deserved, after treating Potter the way he had, but he couldn’t help himself. Potter still riled him up unlike anyone else could.

“Well,” Draco huffed. “If you would like to take a seat, we can begin our game night.” Potter walked over to Draco’s favourite chair and sat his Chosen Arse down. Draco began passing out glasses of Firewhisky, and they all sat down around the table, looking quite uncomfortable, but determined to make the best of it. They started out just playing the basic five card draw, with no mention of stripping, as it was too early in the night. As time progressed and the alcohol continued to flow freely, they relaxed and there seemed to be a tentative truce that had descended over the players.

“Wait, no. I’m not going to play that with a bunch of Slytherins,” Harry protested, gesticulating wildly with his hands.

“Scared, Potter?” Draco challenged.

“Maybe he’s just ashamed,” Blaise laughed, gesturing towards Potter’s groin.

“I’m not,” Potter protested. “Do you want to see?” he asked, struggling to stand up and work his jeans off.

“Save it for the game, boys,” Pansy chastised, and Draco was a bit put out because he had just come the closest he was probably ever going to be to the Chosen Prick. She started dealing cards out.

“The rules are quite similar to normal poker, except this time we’ll be making our bets with items of clothing. If you lose the round, you take off the item that you bet. Socks count as one item, and so do shoes. The goal of the game is obviously to keep all your clothes on. I hope that you all came prepared,” Blaise smirked, giving Potter a pointed look.

“Hey, I didn’t know that we’d be playing strip poker, but I’m not going to back down if you guys aren’t going to,” he glared around the room, trying to remain firm, but was soon breaking out into laughter. “How are we going to decide who loses? Are we going to go all the way or stop when someone is down to their pants?”

“Well, since it’s our first game night, we’ll go easy on you, Potter. We only have to play until someone is down to their pants, or knickers and bra, in Pansy’s case.” Everyone agreed on this as the stopping point, and they all picked up their cards and tentatively started to play, the risks of the game now increasing tenfold.

Although Draco had not been playing poker for long, he was a natural-born. His time as a Malfoy had taught him the skill of a good bluff, and his agile mind was able to do a decent job of calculating risk, knowing when to bet and when to fold. Blaise was a decent player, but not quite as good as Draco, and Pansy didn’t really care. She played for fun and was far too drunk to really know what was happening in the game.

The first round started off much like the previous ones, but everyone was a tad bit more cautious. No one wanted to be the first loser. Draco had been dealt by Pansy a relatively good starting hand, with three kings, an ace and a two; he bet his socks in this round. He decided to draw one more card, and ended up with another ace. His hand was good enough that he knew he would win without having to bluff, or lose any of his clothing. He bet his belt to start, but was raised by Blaise to bet another item, so also added in his jumper. Both Pansy and Potter had folded, only having bet one item of clothing each. Draco won that round, and Blaise began taking off his clothes.

In the next round, Pansy managed to lose her dress, stockings, earrings, and a ring, now only wearing a form-fitting black vest on top and her lacy black knickers on the bottom. She had bet on two pair against Draco and lost by a large margin.

Draco was starting to feel the alcohol more strongly moving about his system, and it was becoming harder and harder to control his thoughts about Potter. He couldn’t even deny that he was quite disappointed that Potter was in a state of dress much like Draco’s, meaning that he’d only taken off his socks. He cast another glance opposite the circle and was startled to see green eyes peering back at him. Flushing red at having been caught looking, Draco snapped his eyes back down to his cards, but he could still feel Potter’s heated gaze on him.

“Oh, is that me again?” Pansy slurred. “I guess that means I’ve got to take off another item of clothing,” she tried giving them sultry looks, but utterly failed in her stupor. She fell to the floor in a fit of giggles, still wearing only a vest and her knickers, which were very nice, but Draco didn’t really want to see them. Blaise had already fallen asleep and so now it was just Potter and Draco.

“I guess it’s just you and me, Malfoy,” Potter stated, his green eyes locking onto Draco’s. Draco could only nod in agreement, hoping his excitement and desire didn’t show on his face. “It’s your turn to deal.” Potter handed him the deck, and Draco dealt them both five cards, sliding Potter’s across the table and reaching down for his own. Bugger. He had absolutely nothing. And since he could only trade in three cards, he didn’t even know which three he should trade. Draco absolutely wanted to fold right then, but one look at Potter intensely studying his cards, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to walk away now.

“Okay, Potter. You start the betting. What do you bet?

“I will bet one pair of jeans.” Draco sucked in a breath, working hard not to imagine Potter clad only in his pants.

“I will match you with one white button-down.” Draco smirked, appearing for all the world as extremely confident in his hand. “How many cards do you want?”

“Two.” He handed Potter two cards and took three more cards for himself. Now he had two pair, and that was it. Draco looked across the table and saw Potter smiling to himself. Bloody hell. Potter was not very good at hiding his emotions, and so Draco knew for certain that he had a good hand. That meant that in order for Draco to win, he was going to have to do his best to bluff.

“I’ll start the bidding with one black leather belt.” Draco regarded Potter warily for a moment, but soon placed his bet, also his belt.

“I raise you one, Malfoy,” Potter challenged, a smirk evident in his bright eyes. “One red t-shirt.” Draco felt his mouth go dry, his imagination having no problem providing him with an image of Potter and his broad shoulders, toned chest, sparse dark hair trickling down to the waistband of his pants. He tried to control his overactive imagination, but it was quite a bit more difficult in his inebriated state. But Draco knew that he couldn’t lose, not to Potter, and certainly not with stakes this high.

He looked Potter straight in the eye and said with a confidence he did not feel, but could feign if his life depended on it, “All in.” Potter’s eyes widened in surprise as he tried to grasp what Draco meant. Draco responded by indicating his entirely clothed body; he meant all in- trousers, shirt, belt, and pants.

“Are you crazy, Malfoy? I thought we were stopping the game when someone was down to their pants.”

“I’m upping the ante. What do you say, Potter? Scared?” 

Potter laughed a little bit to himself at that.“A little, yeah. I’m not sure I’m ready to be starkers right now.” He looked at his hand, and then looked at Draco, looked down at his cards again, and then scrutinized Draco once again, his eyes searching for any signs of a bluff, any sign that it would be Draco who would be getting naked. He didn’t find anything, for Draco was a verified professional at maintaining a cool and detached look, even when he was anything but. “I fold.” Draco was surprised by Potter’s capitulation, but he accepted it with ease.

“You know what that means, Potter. Strip.” Draco commanded. Potter looked directly into Draco’s own eyes, reached down to the hem of his red t-shirt and took it off in one fell swoop. It was even better than Draco had imagined, the lean lines glimmering in the light of the fire, toned muscle on display for his perusal. Potter slowly stood up and backed away from the table, fingers making quick work of his belt buckle, and then his jeans were on the floor and Potter was standing in front of Draco in only his black pants. Draco’s mouth was incredibly dry with the sight of all of Potter’s golden skin blazing, and his trousers were beginning to feel quite tight. Potter continued to stand there, still as a statue, while Draco continued to look.

“Like what you see?” Potter asked cheekily, and Draco could only stare harder, as his voice had left him at some point, probably upon that first glance of Potter’s bare chest. They continued to stare at each other, neither one wanting to look away first, and were both startled when Blaise let out a loud snore. Potter quickly became self-conscious and grabbed his t-shirt and threw it back on. Draco mourned the loss. “It’s getting quite late and I’m getting tired. Do you mind if I kip here for the night?”

“Of course not, the sofa is all yours,” Draco gestured, hoping his disappointment at having been interrupted didn’t show on his face. “Goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning.”


	3. Chapter 3

Harry hadn’t heard from Draco in more than three weeks. And maybe that used to be the norm, but after that poker night, well, Harry had thought some things had changed. He couldn’t say what exactly, but maybe it was all that skin he’d shown, or maybe it was the way those grey eyes had roamed, and even in his intoxicated state, he could still feel the heat spreading across his body like a light caress.

“Harry, you in there?” Ginny laughed, waving her hand animatedly in front of his eyes. “Did you even hear what I said? You looked like you were far away from here. Thinking about a certain blond?” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“What? No,” he protested adamantly. Harry couldn’t hold Ginny’s piercing gaze, so instead he looked down at the worn table in the Leaky, carefully taking a sip of his pint of Butterbeer. “I was definitely listening to you. You were talking about your upcoming travels with Luna.” Ginny smiled gently at the mention of her girlfriend’s name, a wistful look crossing her face as she looked out the window, perhaps wishing Luna was with her now.

“Yeah, well, I’m just missing her. She’s already been gone for two weeks doing research for her articles in the _Quibbler_ , and I just want to see her soon.”

“You’ll be seeing her shortly,” Harry reassured her. He was extremely content with the way things had worked out with his ex, because he knew that not everyone was so lucky. While Harry had been off ridding the world of Voldemort, Ginny had been falling for a certain blonde Ravenclaw. Harry was a bit hurt and disappointed upon first hearing about their relationship, but after seeing how happy and content they both were, he couldn’t deny that that wasn’t the type of relationship that he and Ginny had shared. And this new revelation gave him a chance to explore his budding attraction to men. The summer directly after the war, Harry had been able to lose himself in the anonymity of Muggle clubs, finding himself drawn to beautiful people, regardless of their gender. It was during his “Harry Potter and the Sexual Crisis” time, as Ron liked to call it, that Harry realised that perhaps there was a reason that he couldn’t stop following Malfoy around during their sixth year, that perhaps there was always something just under the surface of all that hate they directed at each other. Now Harry could admit, if only in the quiet of his mind (and also to his ex), that the git was bloody fit.

“You’re doing it again,” Ginny admonished. “Even I, as a self-declared lesbian, can say that Malfoy is a beautiful specimen of a human being— long-legged, pale-skinned, toned body. He is actually a lot like Luna in that respect.”

“I can appreciate the similarities between the two,” Harry acknowledged. “You know, he was really quite different than I expected, especially considering all of our history.”

“He’s grown up, Harry. As have you, and I, and all of our peers. A lot can change in a year, especially when there’s no war going on.” Her tone was gentle, and her eyes lingered on his face. Harry scowled. They all were so careful around him with mentions of the war, and while he appreciated their concern, he didn’t need to be babied.

“I know that better than anyone, Gin. You know that.”

“I know, Harry. I’ll always be here, no matter what. Okay?”

“Okay,” Harry smiled at her. “But I’m telling you, Malfoy wasn’t even kind of a prick; he was funny and nice and sincere, and still a little bit aloof, but there was none of that swagger, and he didn’t sneer at me once.”

“I think we can say that that is a definite improvement. Do you think you’ll see him again?”

“I don’t know. We never made any plans, but I guess you could say that I’m hoping.”

“Well, why don’t you just Owl him?” She gave him a look, and she must have been taking lessons from Hermione or something because it had the same effect.

\-------------------------------------------------------

_Malfoy,_

_I wanted to thank you for inviting me over for game night; I had a great time. I was wondering if you were planning on having another one anytime soon. I’m sorry if that seems a bit rude, I just wanted to get the chance to give you this deck of cards that I picked up in Muggle London._

_P_

\-------------------------------------------------------

_Potter,_

_In fact, I was just getting ready to write you an Owl. I also had a good time, and I’m glad that you could come. Pans and Blaise were so enamoured with you that they want to do it again next Friday. They also want you to bring the Weasel and Granger. I’m not so sure that it’s a good idea, but they assure me that it will be fine._

_M_

\-------------------------------------------------------

_Malfoy,_

_I agree with Pansy and Blaise, and think that it could be a good idea. I know that I will be attending, and I believe that I will be able to convince Hermione and Ron to tag along._

_Looking forward to it,  
P_

\-------------------------------------------------------

It was another typical Friday night at the Leaky and Harry was surrounded once again by his old school friends. Ron had just gone to the bar to get the drinks, and Harry took this as an opportunity to try and convince Hermione to go with him to Malfoy’s place next Friday.

“’Mione, come on,” Harry pleaded. “You said it yourself that it’s time for new starts and that we never gave him a real chance. It’ll be fun,” _I hope,_ Harry continued in his head. He had had fun with Malfoy, but that might have had more to do with his fit body and stormy grey eyes and the copious amounts of alcohol that they had consumed.

“I know I said that, Harry,” Hermione placated. “And I strongly believe it too, but I’m just not sure about a game night. I don’t know how it would go.”

“It might be a little awkward, or maybe a lot awkward,” Harry corrected after the look Hermione gave him, “but like you said last week, it will be a positive thing in the long run. You only have to go to this one game night and then we can go from there.” Hermione looked pensive, and Harry launched into the other reason he had been so wary to bring this idea up in the first place. “But I don’t know how Ron will take it. Do you think that you can convince him to come with us?”

“Oh, you just leave Ron to me,” Hermione smirked. “It’ll be a walk in the park. Just you watch.”

“Oi! I brought drinks,” Ron called out, his hands full of various concoctions. He placed a Firewhisky in front of Harry and a glass of red in front of Hermione. “Who wants to go for a walk in the park?” he asked, sitting down next to Hermione and craning his neck to look at Harry.

“Oh, it’s just a Muggle expression,” Hermione stated. “But remember how Malfoy Owled the other week…”

“We’re talking about the ferrety git? Why?”

“Umbecauseheinvitedyoutocomeoverforgamenight,” Harry rushed out in one exhale.

“Excuse me? I don’t think that I understood you very well.”

“What Harry is trying to say,” Hermione clarified, “is that Malfoy has so kindly invited us over to his flat for a game night.”

“Wait, what did you say?” Ron’s eyes bugged out comically. “I could’ve sworn that you just said that the ferret wants us to come over for drinks, but I must’ve heard you wrong, because that couldn’t be right. Could it?”

“Yes, Ron. That’s exactly what I said. And we’re going to go along because of what we talked about earlier,” she signaled with her head towards Harry.

“But I don’t want to go to the ferret’s flat. What if he tries to kill us?”

“Ron, it’s been a year since the war. Things have changed. Malfoy has changed. And also, if you don’t play nice, I’m going to take sex off the table until you do,” Hermione smirked. Ron looked stricken, and Harry admired Hermione’s manipulative skills. It looked like they would be joining the former Slytherins for game night.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Draco thought that the night was going well, all things considered. It was a collection of ex-Slytherins and ex-Gryffindors, of course things were going to be a little bit tense. After a bit of alcohol, everyone seemed a little bit more relaxed, and Potter was acting as a good liaison, helping keep everyone entertained and happy, running around filling drinks. But now they were in the middle of this Muggle game called Cards Against Humanity®, and Draco was suffering. This game was absolutely terrible, and he wasn’t comfortable enough with the Weasel—ok fine, Weasley—or Granger, or even Potter, to put the truly devious answers down. And it was getting harder and harder to control himself as the alcohol continued to be provided.

“Who is interested in upping the ante?” Blaise questioned with a lascivious smile, giving Potter a leering wink. Draco sighed once again, knowing exactly where Blaise was going with this question.

“What do you mean?” Weasley asked, slurring slightly and glaring towards Blaise with wide, slightly unfocused eyes. Out of all of them, it seemed that the Weasel (Weasley, Draco mentally corrected himself again) was trying to drink himself under the table. He was clearly the least excited of the group to be participating in this evening, and it seemed he was coping by ensuring that he wouldn’t remember any of it in the morning.

“I mean,” and here Blaise punctuated his words with an enthusiastic hand gesture, “why don’t we play strip Cards Against Humanity®?”

“Why do your ideas always involve getting naked?” Draco whined. The more important question was, why did they always involve getting naked around Potter? And this wasn’t a game that he could bluff the way he could poker. There was a very high possibility that he might end up even more naked than Potter, and that was just not acceptable.

“Um, I think that I actually agree with Draco on this one.” Hermione had insisted from the beginning of the evening that this was a fresh start, and she wanted to call everyone by their first names. “Why do we need to take off our clothes?” she piped up, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“I don’t have a problem with it,” Pansy stated loudly, already making to take off her blouse. Sober, Pans was always comfortable in her body, never bothering to hide from anyone while changing, and when she had had a little alcohol, it became an almost impossible task to keep her clothes on.

“No, Pans, it’s not time for that now,” Blaise said gently, reaching over to still her hands. “What do you say, Potter, Weasley? Are you guys going to show us some of that legendary Gryffindor courage and play strip Cards Against Humanity® with some devious Slytherins?”

“I can do anything you gits can do,” Weasley declared, waving his arm drunkenly towards Pansy and Blaise.

“And I guess I won’t be leaving Ron all alone.”

“Well, I’m still not going to play. I’ll just sit this one out and watch,” Hermione stated.

“That’s fine, ‘Mione,” Potter responded. “We respect your decision and you can help us if things get too out of control.”

“So, Zabini, how exactly does this work?” Weasley grumbled.

“The person who chooses the winning white card will now also choose a losing card. The loser has to take off one item of clothing, and the winner keeps the card that they won. Socks and shoes count as single items, and jewelry does not count. We’ll end the game when one player is down to their pants, or in Pansy’s case, her bra and knickers. Does that sound like a good stopping point or do any of you want to get starkers?” Weasley gave an outraged sound of protest, and Potter gulped loudly.

“We’re completely fine with ending the game at that point.” Potter stated, looking over at Weasley to verify that this was true. 

Blaise smirked at both of them, and continued on with the rules.

“A player can trade in two black cards, if they have them, in place of taking off an item of clothing. Are there any questions?” Blaise looked around, and since no one had any, the game began with Pansy picking.

Since they had already been playing without the added level of stripping, everyone sort of had the hang of it, but that didn’t mean people weren’t taking off clothes. Draco looked around and noticed that most people had taken off one or two items of clothing, mostly socks and belts, and some jumpers. Draco himself wasn’t doing too well and was down to his trousers and a tight white t-shirt. He felt like he was being looked at, and when he glanced to his right, found himself immediately drawn into intensely green eyes. Unable to look away, Draco saw in his peripheral vision that Potter himself was mostly clothed, having an uncanny knack of winning the game, with responses like ‘(blank) is a slippery slope that leads to (blank)’, filling it in with ‘a gentle caress of the inner thigh’ is a slippery slope that leads to ‘doin’ it in the arse.’ It seemed like the universe might be on their side, as Draco was the one to pick that as the winner, and he couldn’t help suppress a shiver, with thoughts of Potter looking carefree and relaxed and smiling washing over him. It was like a reverse of the strip poker game, and Draco found himself disappointed, and with good reason. He was going to have to work very hard to find a way to get Potter almost starkers, or fully starkers, again.

“Ok, the black card says ‘a successful job interview begins with a firm handshake and ends with blank,’” Blaise declared, looking around the small circle gathered on the floor. As everyone had become more comfortable, they had slowly shifted closer together, sliding off the furniture and onto the floor, nearer to the warmth of the fire. Draco looked down at his own cards. He didn’t really have anything good, and the best he could come up with was ‘a small outbreak of smallpox.’ When everyone had put down their cards, Blaise began to read them, and answers varied from Draco’s to Ron’s ‘a lifetime of sadness’ and Potter’s ‘double penetration.’ Potter won the round easily, and Draco was saved having to take off more clothes because Blaise chose Ron’s as the worst card, and so Ron took off his loose green t-shirt and was now only in his jeans.

Potter was next, and he reached out his hand to draw a black card. He proceeded to read the card, which asked: “‘In 1,000 years, when paper money is a distant memory, how will we pay for goods and services?’" Draco once again looked at his hand, but he still had the worst cards, one about some Muggle he’d never heard of, vigorous jazz hands, powerful thighs, bees?, and some former Muggle president. As others began placing their white cards face-down on top of the black card, Draco panicked. He closed his eyes, picked a card, and placed it in the growing pile. 

“Okay, is that all?” Potter asked, looking around the circle to make sure that everyone had put a card down. “Let’s see what we have here. ‘In 1,000 years, when paper money is a distant memory, how will we pay for goods and services?’ ‘My collection of high tech sex toys.’ That’s a good one. Then ‘my vagina.’ A bit strange, considering I don’t have a vagina… Next, ‘bees?’ This person sounds quite unsure of their answer, considering the card itself has a question mark.” 

Draco groaned inwardly. Bees? Really? That was a terrible card and he was most certainly going to lose. 

“And the last two are ‘Sarah Palin’ and ‘road head.’ Hmm.” He reached down and selected ‘road head’ and ‘my collection of high tech sex toys.’ “Even though I don’t have a collection of high tech sex toys, I like to think that one day most people will, because everyone will be kinky sods 1,000 years in the future. That’s the card I’m choosing as the winner.”

“Ooh, that’s me!” Pansy exclaimed excitedly, taking her black card triumphantly.  
“And for the losing card, I pick ‘bees?’ Because the card itself is questioning, unsure if ‘bees?’ are really a valid method of payment. Whose card was this?” He held the white card up in his hand and looked around the circle. Everyone began shaking their heads that it wasn’t their card, until Potter’s eyes found Draco’s, and he noted that Draco’s wasn’t shaking his head no. “Really, Malfoy? Bees? You know what this means.”

“I could have black cards to trade, Potter.” Draco looked down at the cards in front of him. He only had one black card, which wasn’t enough to trade.

“Looks like you’re out of luck, Malfoy. Take it off,” he commanded. Malfoy suppressed a shiver that ran the length of his back at Potter’s tone, trying to decide which article of clothing to take off. He didn’t want to show everyone his Sectumsempra scars so he decided to remove his black trousers. Draco was trying to pretend that no one else was watching him, but as he took a look around the room, it seemed that he was at the center of attention. Ron looked like he was watching a car crash; he wanted to avert his eyes, but couldn’t stop himself from looking. Pansy and Blaise were also looking in his direction, but they didn’t seem to care that much, which was probably because they’d seen it themselves a thousand times before. Hermione was just glancing curiously, averting her eyes away every few seconds as if she had been caught doing something she shouldn’t be doing. And then there was Potter. He was staring avidly at Draco, his eyes burning holes down the length of his body, lighting it from the inside. In order to remove his trousers, Draco had to stand up, and then he really felt like he was performing for a show. Blaise whistled, and Pansy winked, while both Ron and Hermione looked on with twin expressions of shock across their face as Draco began to undo the buttons at the top of his trousers. He slowly reached his hands over to his hips and rolled the fabric down, revealing clingy black pants and long, pale legs. Now, without a doubt, everyone’s eyes were fixated on Draco’s legs, but it was only Potter’s stare that he cared about. Once he got his trousers down to his ankles, he kicked them off in Potter’s direction and stuck a pose, one hand on his hip, the other extended above his head. He could feel Potter’s gaze raking over his exposed skin like a light caress, and he could feel himself reacting to it. Before anything could become too obvious, Draco sat back down and drew his trousers over his lap to hide any unwanted reactions.

At this point, Pansy stated that she was too tired to continue, and the party broke up quickly. Weasley, Hermione, and Potter all left with thank yous and mumbled goodbyes, and Draco found himself once again alone in his four poster bed, thoughts of tousled black hair and green eyes filling his mind as he drifted off to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry may have been just the slightest bit attracted to Malfoy, and he might have known that even before seeing him almost starkers, but afterwards, he could say with complete certainty that Malfoy was quite attractive, and not even as much of a git as he used to be. In fact, Harry found himself inexplicably craving to see the blond, and since he couldn’t seem to find his legendary Gryffindor courage to just bloody ask him out, he decided to host a game night at his own flat.

“What do you think about hosting a game night at my flat, Gin?”

“Oooh Harry, that would be exciting,” Ginny responded enthusiastically. “Do you want to do a big thing or just keep it relatively small?”

“Well, I think that relatively small would be best because there’s not a lot of space in my flat. I want Ron, ‘Mione, you, obviously, Luna and Hannah, if they were here, Neville, Seamus, Dean, and then Parkinson, Zabini, and Malfoy.”

“I knew this was really all about Malfoy,” she smirked at him. “Really, Harry, you don’t have to keep pretending with me anymore. I’m the best, what was it you called me the other day? Oh right, wing woman. I’m your wing woman and I’m here to get you laid!” she exclaimed, far too excitedly in Harry’s opinion, considering it was half eleven in the morning and they were at that cute brunch place close to his flat. Harry could feel the heat of the blush spreading over his face, and he tried to hide it by ducking his head, which was unsuccessful, but very successful in knocking over his water glass. Quickly looking around to see if any Muggles were watching, and determining there were none, he vanished the mess with a discreet flick of his wand, appearing even more embarrassed than before.

“Gin, come on. I know that it’s been a while, but really, that doesn’t mean I want to get in Malfoy’s pants.”

“I didn’t say anything about anyone’s pants. You brought that up all by yourself,” she giggled. “But I think that it’s an admirable goal and I’m ready to help you out there. I say the party is a lovely idea, and it might give you just the push you need to achieve your goal.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

_M,_

_Since you’ve hosted the previous game nights, I decided to return the favour and hold one of my own at my flat. If you and your friends are available, please join me at seven; the Floo address is “Harry Potter’s Flat.” I look forward to hearing from you._

_P_

\-------------------------------------------------------

“Draco, dear, how are your friends?” his mother asked, the picture of pureblood elegance on the settee, her navy blue robes flowing delicately, the tea set matching even the colour of the walls. Every Monday, Draco Apparated to France to join his mother in their standing dinner date, and she always asked about Pans and Blaise.

“Pans and Blaise are quite well, very excited to be finished up with NEWTS and moving on to the next phase of life.”

“That’s good to hear. And how have you been? Anything new or exciting happen?” She arched one neatly trimmed eyebrow.

“Mother, have you been writing to Pansy about me again?” Draco whined. “You know that you can ask me anything; you don’t have to go behind my back and try to get it out of my best friend.”

“Now, now, Draco,” Narcissa soothed. “I know that I could ask you anything, but would you honestly be so forthcoming with me? About the Potter boy?”

“What has that cow been telling you?”

“Draco, watch your language. I will not stand for that kind of behaviour in my house. I raised you with more manners than that.” Even though Draco was a grown man, he still felt that coil of obedience rise like a snake, hoping to do whatever it took to please his parents.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” Draco said demurely, placing his steaming cup of Earl Grey on the saucer. “It’s just frustrating feeling like I can’t go out in public unless I’m in the Muggle world and feeling like I’m not going to meet anyone.”

“Tell me about the Potter boy. Lord knows you had no problems espousing about him in your younger years.” Draco’s cheeks filled with embarrassment, but he couldn’t really deny it.

“Mother, I do not want to talk about any boy that I might like, especially Potter.”

“No one said anything about liking him. This must be more serious than I thought.”

“Please don’t read too much into it,” Draco pleaded. “I don’t know where we stand, and I don’t even know if he shares my disposition.”

“Oh, honey, I can see that you’re trying to protect yourself from getting hurt. But I want you to know that I only want what’s best for you; my only wish is to see you happy. If there’s a chance that you might find happiness with that Potter boy, then you should go for it. Who knows when you will have another opportunity such as this one?” Draco pondered her words, knowing somewhere deep in his heart that she spoke the truth, but still too scared to do anything drastic. He couldn’t face rejection, not after everything that had happened.

“Well, he did invite me and my friends over for a game party this upcoming Friday,” Draco told his mother hesitantly. “Do you think that I should go?”

“I think that that would be a lovely idea, dear.” She smiled at him. “And since he invited you over to his flat, it must be a good thing? Right?” That was the million Galleon question, Draco thought to himself. Did Potter want to see him as much as he wanted to see Potter? It appeared that he just might have to convince Pans and Blaise to join him for an evening of entertainment at the house of one Harry Potter.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Harry thought that the party was going fairly well, all things considered. Everyone was at that point in the night where everything was extremely funny, and every suggestion was a good one. That was probably how they had found themselves in this situation, with the suggestion of yet another Muggle game, and surprisingly, one that didn’t involve stripping. It was actually Seamus’ idea to play this game called Darling I Love You, but since no one had ever heard of it before, Seamus had to explain. It was getting quite entertaining watching a slightly drunk Seamus wave his hands around and shout at people.

“The point of this game is to be the best.” Everyone collectively rolled their eyes at this. “Now what does being the best entail? It means that when someone asks you, Darling, do you love me? You have to respond with darling, I love you, but I just can’t smile. It might sound easy, but trust me, it’s not. I’ll start us off.” Seamus sauntered over towards Dean, swinging his hips to a beat that only he could hear, and stopped in front of Dean, legs spread wide. He slowly maneuvered so that he was hovering just above Dean and started rolling his hips, licking his lips and smiling at Dean. “Darling, do you love me?”

Then Seamus turned around and started moving his arse up and down over Dean’s lap, practically hitting Dean in the nose. Dean started saying his response, “darling, darling, I love you… “ but then broke down laughing at the comical sight.

“And now, it is Dean’s turn to make someone else smile. If he isn’t successful, then he has to move on to another person.” Everyone quickly caught on to the game, and the hilarity continued to develop as people became even more inebriated. Harry became fascinated with watching Malfoy, whose cheeks had gone red with the alcohol, and whose eyes shone silver-bright. Despite his clearly drunken state, no one had yet to make Malfoy laugh. From Pansy performing a parody of a sexy burlesque show to Ron telling some of his funniest jokes, Malfoy had been stoic throughout. It had become a challenge, and every new person always zoned in on Malfoy, trying to get him to break, but so far, no one had been successful.

“Oi, Harry, I’m trying to serenade you.” Harry snapped his eyes back to the center of the room and saw that Ginny had transfigured a quill into a microphone, and was singing, one arm raised above her head, her hips sashaying back and forth. “Darling,” she sang in a low rasp,” I love you.” Harry could tell that she was trying to imitate that Elvis song he had showed her, and he was already smiling. “Do you love me, baby?” She pointed the microphone in his direction and tossed her hair back. Harry tried to say the words, but they were punctuated by his bursts of laughter. Ginny took his place on the sofa, and Harry looked around the room, suddenly nervous. He knew what was expected of him, but he didn’t know if he could do it. After a moment’s deliberation, Harry figured he was up for it, and whether it was the alcohol, or his misplaced Gryffindor courage, it didn’t matter. Harry locked eyes with Malfoy and began to slowly walk in that direction. Hermione and Pansy both moved their chairs away from Malfoy, giving Harry room to maneuver. Ever so slowly, Harry began to move his legs outward, shuffling forward and bending his knees, so he was hovering over Malfoy’s lap. He knew that it was a suggestive position, but couldn’t find it in him to care. He then looked directly at Malfoy, lifted his left hand that was curled into a fist, and then made his thumb move back and forth, squeaking out the words, “darling, do you loooooove me?” putting extra emphasis on the love. Malfoy held it together for a long couple of seconds, while Harry continued to hover, started to say his lines, with Harry interrupting him, asking “do you really loove me?” with his hand, and by the end, a small quirk was lighting his features and he knew that Malfoy had lost.

Everyone applauded enthusiastically at the fact that Harry had made Malfoy laugh, and that it was now his turn to go. Malfoy stood up gracefully from his seat and moved towards the center of the room while Harry slid into the vacated spot. He watched as Malfoy spun around in a slow circle, scrutinizing each person in turn. There were Seamus and Dean snuggling together on the loveseat; Neville and Ginny companionably in the corner, faces flushed with alcohol; Hermione, now in between Harry and Ron, was smiling gently at Harry; and Pansy was leaning against the cushioned arm of the chair Blaise was occupying. A spark lit up Malfoy’s eyes, and Harry could tell what it meant— Malfoy was going for the challenge, which meant he was going to go after him.

Malfoy began to slowly slink towards him, eyeing him up and down and sizing up the competition. When he reached the chair where Harry sat, Draco dropped his arse down and turned so that Harry had to catch his legs and back to keep him from falling.

“Malfoy, what are you doing?” Harry hissed, trying to hide his embarrassment from the room. Not that he wouldn’t like to have a lapful of Malfoy, but he would much prefer it if there was less of an audience. 

“Why, Potter, I’m trying to make you laugh,” Malfoy smirked. “Now, I’ve been a good boy, Father Christmas, and that means that I’m expecting a really good present this year, the kind that you only give really special boys.” Harry heard a strangled laugh from Pansy and a giggle from Ginny. Malfoy reached up his pointer finger to Harry’s face and gently drew his finger down his face, softly asking, “Father Christmas, darling, I love you. Do you love me, your really special boy?” He pouted, pushing his shining bottom lip out, his grey eyes mournful and sad. “I’ve been such a good boy, don’t you love me?”

Harry responded. “Darling, I love you,” and here Draco broke down in fake sobs.

“Do you really love me? You don’t sound like it. Say it like you mean it,” and he bloody winked, his face transforming from miserable to flirty in no time. Harry couldn’t keep from laughing at Malfoy’s dramatics, and pushed Malfoy off so that he could have another go.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Draco was having a great time at Potter’s flat, and it might have had something to do with the large amounts of alcohol that he had imbibed or it could be because somehow, they had ended up squished together on one of Potter’s plush armchairs, which really only had room for one person. This meant that Draco could feel all of Potter’s warm body against his, from thigh to shoulder, and Potter’s head was leaning so far to the side that it was almost resting on him. As Draco glanced around the room, he found tolerance and acceptance on most people’s faces, and even some hesitatingly welcome expressions, like Hermione’s. It was more than he could expect, and for that, he was grateful.

“It’s getting late,” Hermione yawned, stretching her arms up and arching her back like a cat. “I think that Ron and I are going to head home.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Blaise murmured, a passed out Pansy lying in his lap. “I’ll take her home with me and she can kip on my sofa.” As soon as someone suggested leaving, everyone was ready to go.

“You guys okay to Apparate?” Potter asked sleepily. Everyone was either sober enough or had somebody to side-along them. Soon, Potter’s flat was empty, bottles of Butterbeer and empty glasses strewn about the living room, the embers in the fire having died down to a glowing red. Draco was really too comfortable to even think about moving, and he didn’t want to have to push the Chosen Git off him.

“Are you going to Apparate too?” Potter asked, straightening his neck and looking up at Draco through long, black lashes. Draco felt his throat go dry. Did Potter want him to leave? Had he been reading all of the signals wrong?

“I mean, of course I was; I was just finding the motivation to get up.” Draco attempted to laugh, but it came out more like a snort, which just served to further Draco’s embarrassment. Potter’s gaze quickly turned troubled.

“Wait, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. But you can,” he rushed. “If you want to.”

“I’m quite comfortable where I am, thanks,” Draco said dryly, trying to hide from Potter how much he wanted to stay, but probably failing miserably if the glint in his emerald eyes was anything to go from.

“Okay, prat, I won’t make his highness move.” Draco quite liked the sound of that, and settled more comfortably in the chair. His movements caused Potter to start sliding off, and to keep himself from doing so, Potter levered his body completely up, placing his arse directly in Draco’s lap and his legs over the arm cushion.

“Um, Potter, what are you doing?” Draco squeaked, feeling the blush seep over his face, turning the tips of his ears a bright, cherry red.

“I’m just making myself more comfortable,” Potter smirked. “If you get to be so comfortable, then why don’t I get too as well?” The truth was, Draco felt almost too content, with Potter’s weight pressing down, warming his stomach down to the tops of his knees. And some parts of his body were starting to take notice. Draco didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t move for fear of making it worse, but just sitting there was not helping.

“I’m getting hot,” Draco complained, because it was partly true and it might convince bloody Potter to get off his lap.

“I can help with that,” Potter smiled lavisciously, and instead of moving to get off his lap, Potter wriggled a bit more, aligning his body with Draco’s and reaching down to the hem of his navy blue jumper. Draco swallowed audibly.

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” Draco yelped, trying and failing to make his voice cooperate.

“I know it’s not,” Potter said more subdued, “but is this okay?” Despite all of his bravado and confidence with the flirting earlier, Potter seemed uncharacteristically shy. Draco nodded his consent, because really, maybe it was time for them to stop dancing around each other and give in to what was clearly something they both wanted. Potter’s hands returned to Draco’s hips, and he gently grasped the soft cashmere fabric and started tugging. “Could you help me out a little?” He turned his shy smile towards Draco, and Draco’s eyes softened as he reached his hands up. Potter pulled the jumper off, revealing a pale blue button-up.

“Now it’s my turn.” Draco started reaching for Potter’s tight white t-shirt, hesitating for any sign of rejection. Potter took hold of Draco’s hands and guided him in the removal of his shirt. Draco could once again admire Potter’s lithe frame, the muscles toned and defined.

“This is unfair,” Potter pouted. “I want to look at you.” Draco made a gesture as if to say, well then, have at it. Potter didn’t need to be told twice, and his nimble fingers were soon reaching the bottom buttons, pushing the shirt aside, revealing a pale white torso, crisscrossed with lighter scars. Draco felt, rather than saw, Potter’s inhale, recognizing what the scars were from. Rather than looking up and seeing the guilty expression that he knew he would find, he talked to Potter’s chest.

“Potter, I know what you’re thinking and I want you to move on right now. I know that you feel guilty, but I forgave you a long time ago. I also know it’s something we probably need to talk about, but can we not do it right at this moment?” Draco chanced a glance up, and while Potter still looked shaken, he seemed determined to move on if that was what Draco wanted. 

To show with complete certainty that this was what he wanted right now, Draco reached up to Potter’s neck and drew his face down, crushing their lips together. At first, it was all teeth and lip-biting as they got used to each other’s mouths, but soon it turned gentler, more curious. Potter moaned against Draco’s lips, and the sound was like a jolt straight to his groin. He couldn’t help the little thrust his hips made, and Potter’s answering thrust down felt incredible. Draco opened his mouth to let Potter’s questioning tongue in, and soon he was melting, melting in the incredible heat of Potter’s mouth, his bare chest radiating warmth from the heart out, the friction between their erections creating the most delicious feeling. “Potter, I need…” Draco gasped.

“Harry,” he corrected. “If we’re going to do this, then I think that first names might be more appropriate.”

“Harry,” Draco gasped, as Potter… no, Harry, moved his hips in a downwards motion. The name didn’t sound as strange rolling off his tongue as he thought it might’ve, and it was a much softer and gentler sound than Potter. Draco decided he liked it. “Harry, please, I need more.” Harry slowly moved his mouth from where it was attached to Draco’s, down to his neck, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses in a line, proceeding on to Draco’s collarbones, following the path with his tongue, and then to Draco’s nipples, which were extremely sensitive. Draco shuddered as Harry laved one nipple and then the other, moving his mouth down to Draco’s navel and then even lower. When he reached the waistband of his trousers, Harry hesitated, looking up once more. Whatever he saw in Draco’s eyes, he felt confident to continue, and deftly unfastened them, exposing Draco’s straining cock. Harry stopped once again, and Draco keened, desperate for him to continue.

“Patience. I’ve waited a long time for this. I don’t want to end it too soon.”

“There will be time for that later. Please just touch me, Harry.” Harry complied, and soon his hand was on Draco’s cock, and Draco felt like his world was breaking and being put back together again after that simple touch. Although he’d had lots and lots of fantasies, he’d never actually had another man’s hand on his cock, and it was unimaginable. Harry started stroking him, slowly at first, as if he too was getting used to having his hand on Draco’s cock, just as Draco was adjusting to the feel of Harry’s calloused hand. His hand stilled, and Draco held his breath, waiting to see what Harry would do next. Then, as if finding the answers to the universe right then and there, Harry began to move his hand furiously, running it up and down Draco’s shaft, pausing to flick his thumb over the tip and collect the drops of precome, and then continuing to stroke. It didn’t take long until Draco felt his belly begin to tighten, and he was coming all over Harry’s hand, breathing in a strangled breath. Harry let go of Draco’s oversensitive cock and repositioned himself on Draco’s lap, drawing him in for a deep kiss.

After Draco retrieved some of his cognitive abilities, he realised that Harry hadn’t come. “Do you need me to help you out?” he asked, motioning with his hand towards Harry’s groin. Harry returned a sheepish grin.

“I kind of already came. You were just so hot and the noises you were making— I couldn’t help myself.” He looked incredibly embarrassed, and Draco wanted to reassure him that it was nothing to be embarrassed about. If their roles had been reversed, Draco would have been coming in his trousers just the same.

“It’s okay, Harry,” Draco said gently. “Was this your first time with a man?”

“Umm… It was actually my first time ever.”

“Well, I guess we have that in common.”

“But I thought,” Harry stumbled over his words, “there were all those rumours going on about what happened in the Slytherin dorms.”

“And they were just that, rumours. Well at least in my case,” Draco winked at Harry. “But enough talk, I’m tired. I’m told that you have a bedroom in this flat, where we could perhaps find a bed and get some rest before a repeat performance?” Harry’s eyes lit up at that and he scrambled out of Draco’s lap. He reached out his hand to help Draco from the chair, and Draco took it, sending a silent thank-you to Pansy for writing that owl all those weeks ago.

**Author's Note:**

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> 
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